


girl in the mirror

by cracktheglasses (cormallen)



Series: Short Prompt Fic! [5]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Crossdressing, Gender Play, Insecurity, M/M, kyluxhardkinks, pretty kylo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-08-24 14:09:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8375191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cormallen/pseuds/cracktheglasses
Summary: Quick fill for a @kyluxhardkinks prompt: Hux dressing Kylo in lacy panties and pretty dress, doing his hair and makeup then taking her out on the town. Kylo is shy and self-conscious at first, but loves Hux telling him what a good girl she is, how perfect and beautiful.





	

“Hux, I can’t. I can’t possibly,” he says, staring into the mirror.

“You can.”

Hux’s voice is low, even. His hands are steady as he pulls Kylo’s hair back, fingers running softly through the strands before he makes a graceful twist, then another.

“Hand me a bobby pin,” he requests; Kylo reaches for the little dish on the vanity, glass edges shaped like petals, scoops several pins into his too-large hand.

“Here,” Hux says, leans down over Kylo’s pink satin shoulder for it. 

“Hmm,” he deliberates out loud; in the mirror, Kylo sees him step back, survey his work with a critical eye. 

“Tilt your head. Like that,” he nods; his hand, warm, quick, lands at Kylo’s hairline, travels above his ear, pulling, curling, working some strange magic.

“Turn towards me.”

Kylo obediently swivels around in his seat. It’s immediately more comfortable to have the mirror behind him, pane of glass that now reflects only a bit of his dressing gown above the back of the chair, and he doesn’t have to see it, smooth satin sheen in the electric light.

“Close your eyes, and keep them closed.”

He hears the click of a cap, and then the hiss of the hairspray as it mists over him, infinitesimal droplets landing sticky on his forehead, the top of an ear. Hux makes another small, pondering “hmm”, and the bottle is replaced on the dressing table; Hux moves, measured and deliberate, and Kylo forces his lashes from fluttering, keeps his eyes tightly shut.

“Hold still for me, pretty girl.”

He tenses. _Hux_ , he wants to say, _Hux, I can’t, please, do you mean it_ , wants to see Hux’s face, the corners of his mouth tilting up as he says it, _pretty girl_ , _pretty, pretty, pretty_ , but his eyes have to stay closed, have to stay dry so the liner doesn’t smudge, doesn’t leak down his cheeks in rivulets of black.

The puff touches his face, feather-light; Hux flits it carefully over his chin, his jaw, his nose. He dabs at the top of Kylo’s mouth with the pad of his thumb, dry, warm, taps just above the divot of his lip as if fixing a final, barely-there imperfection.

“Stand up.”

He falters a bit as he lifts up from the chair, still unseeing; Hux’s hand is there grasping his, righting him, pulling him up. Kylo takes a step, shifts heavily from foot to foot; Hux runs his hand up his forearm, to his satin-covered bicep, to his shoulder.

“You look lovely. So soft, Kylo. Would keep you like this, if I could, but you can’t go out in a housecoat.”

He guesses more than feels Hux undo the robe’s belt.

“Arms to the sides, if you would.”

 _Do I have to, please, Hux_ , is on the tip of his tongue, in his throat; Kylo swallows and extends his arms as directed, lets Hux bend and guide them out of the sleeves, lets the dressing gown swish down to the floor, pooling at his feet.

Cool air hits his exposed skin; his nipples pebble, tighten into hard little points. The robe hadn’t been particularly warm, but it’s the proximity of Hux that makes him shiver, sends him to curl in on himself a little, press his thighs together. He can’t see, but Hux can, can see all of him, on display like this. His bare chest, his stomach, his arms, his legs, everything hairless, shaved smooth. The lace of his panties, the way it rasps over his hips, stretches and pulls over his cock. The tops of his stockings, tight, leaving little pink imprints in the skin of his thighs.

“Pretty,” Hux says again, and Kylo inhales sharply as he feels hands sliding under the waistband of his panties, Hux’s warm, smooth fingertips dragging over his cockhead, curving over his shaft, stroking, squeezing.

He makes a small, choked noise as the hands span his hips, glide back around, stretching the lace, until Hux is cupping his ass, teasing at his crack, pulling him apart slightly. He feels a gentle press at his hole, the pad of a finger lightly circling his rim, then the hands withdraw, quick, sudden, the band of the panties snapping back almost painfully.

“Hux?” he says plaintively, this time out loud. Maybe now he’ll be allowed to open his eyes, will be allowed to look, he thinks, but Hux tells him to step forward, instead. Kylo lifts a foot uncertainly, takes a step, then another, feels more soft fabric brush up against his sole. It’s the dress, he’s stepping into the dress, he guesses, rather than risk his hair or the makeup on his face.

He’s correct; Hux draws the dress up to his waist, first, the fabric swishing cool over his legs, his thighs, the sensitive sliver of bare skin between stockings and panties. It’s torturous, the cool cloth and the barely-there brush of Hux’s fingers as he works, pulling on a zipper here, a lace there.

The scratch of nails over his chest is unexpected; Kylo starts, gasps at the sudden hurt. Hux digs his nails harder into his pecs and scrapes, circling his nipples. Kylo bites his lip, imagining the dark red lines blooming in Hux’s wake. He hasn’t broken the skin, won’t, _wouldn’t_ , but for a moment, Kylo pictures he has, thinks of the heavy droplets sliding down, painting his skin red, staining the fine lace below, and moans.

He whimpers when Hux nuzzles into his chest, mouth pressing delicately over the fresh, stinging scratches, tongue laving hot and wet at the tender skin. Lips brush over a nipple, worry at it until it’s tingling, hot, and Kylo can’t help pushing his hips forward, rutting helplessly into lace and silk and air.

Hux withdraws.

“Hold out your arms,” he says, like it’s nothing, his voice still even and calm. Kylo obeys, half-dizzy with nervous, tremulous want, the straps of the dress being pulled up and arranged over his shoulders, and then –

– gloves, he realizes, as Hux works them onto each of his fingers; he spreads them apart, trying to help, trembling suddenly when the fabric stretches over his hands, his wrists, up to his elbows. Evening gloves. Proper. _Ladylike_.

He hears the scrape of the chair being pulled away, and then Hux’s mouth is at his ear, hot breath tickling as it whuffs over the skin.

“Turn back around. Then you may open your eyes, Kylo.”

The lights are too bright, he thinks at first, lashes fluttering open as he faces the mirror. 

In the stark yellow glow, his lips look almost too red, glossy, something lush and strange and exotic. Liner and mascara darken his eyes, smoky shadow blended with sparkle over his eyelids; his face is porcelain-pale, a sweet petal pink blushing over the apples of his cheeks. The dark green dress drapes over his chest, an illusion of soft curves where none exist; it’s cinched tight at his waist, flaring out below in folds of shimmering emerald silk. His hair is pulled back, knotted intricately, a few curls loose, trailing down over his forehead, framing his face. The white opera gloves span his arms to the elbow, demure and obscene at once.

It’s not him. It can’t be, this soft, strange thing, decadent, painted and draped in silk. Kylo lifts a hand, tilts it, palm up, stares at the stitching on the gloves, the little seams that travel down the side of each finger. The creature in the mirror does the same, pursing her ruby-red mouth, and behind her, Hux moves, slipping near, one arm draping around her bared, milk-white shoulder.

Kylo turns his head.

Hux leans in, warm and familiar, and close enough to kiss.

“You look so beautiful, Kylo. Don’t you see?”

Kylo trembles, chest tight, as he tries to will the _yes_ from his tongue.

“One more thing,” Hux says, and presses a careful, close-mouthed kiss to Kylo’s jaw, to his neck, to the curve of his shoulder, making heat radiate down through Kylo’s entire body. He winds the necklace around Kylo’s throat, once, twice, again, and clicks the clasp shut, the pearls iridescent as they catch the light.

“There you are. Stunning, Kylo. You’re stunning.”

Kylo releases a long-held breath. The girl in the mirror nods, red glistening mouth drawing into a shy smile.


End file.
